


The Fun of Throwing Punches

by Adira_Tyree



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Fallout Kink Meme, Femdom, Fight Sex, Gambling, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 09:37:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3891463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adira_Tyree/pseuds/Adira_Tyree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>F!LW Jane and Butch DeLoria can't stand each other, but at least they can beat each other up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fun of Throwing Punches

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Kink Meme, prompt over [here](http://falloutkinkmeme.livejournal.com/5646.html?thread=13859342).

It wasn’t the first time the six of them had gotten drunk together. Jane brought Amata, Amata brought Paul, Paul brought Butch, Butch brought Wally, and Wally brought Christine. So long as things didn’t get loud, no one suspected they were getting drunk on cheap Vault-Tec beer in Jane’s bedroom while her father pulled long hours in the clinic with Jonas. Not Jane, the doctor’s daughter – she would know better. Not Amata, the overseer’s daughter – she was too good a girl.

_“Whoeva said you gotta be sober to be good?”_ Butch had teased Amata, grinning with Wally as Christine dropped a second empty can to the floor. They all cringed at the noise, but it was impossible to avoid noise in the vault – they were like marbles in a giant tin can, in a cave.

As 18 slowly came closer and closer to 19, Jane’s father seemed to be spending less and less time at home. It wasn’t uncommon for him to never leave the infirmary’s lab at all, having taken to falling asleep at his desk – one hand still twitching over the keys of his terminal. It became so increasingly regular that the unlikely chain of friends didn’t bother hiding away in Jane’s room to drink anymore. The den worked just as well, so long as the curtains were drawn.

The funny thing about it was that nobody wanted to be with more than one other person in the room. Butch only ever went because Paul dragged him, and the possibility of seeing “Princess Amata” get skunked was always worth it. Amata was beyond sick of Wally’s constant jabs at her, and the attention he gave her only made Christine jealous. Paul somehow seemed to be neutral and genuinely tolerable in everyone’s minds, and often was the only one able to prevent the whole charade from turning into a brawl. Not that Jane still didn’t try.

 

* * *

 

On Jane’s 19th birthday her father didn’t come home at all - she didn’t take it personally (though Amata was absolutely infuriated). Jane knew that her father loved her, even if he was a little too dedicated to his work. She guessed it kept him from remembering her mother. Jane’s birthday always hit him hard.

Despite the fact that Jane herself was unperturbed by the whole of Vault 101’s general disinterest in her birthday, Amata insisted that they would have to get together for a party.

“We’ll have everyone come! Me, Paul, Christine, Butch, Wally, maybe Susie –” Amata started, clasping her hands together and grinning ear to ear. She bounced with her usual barely-contained energy, leaning in close over the table so no one else in the mess hall could hear her.

Jane raised an eyebrow, skewering a hunk of steamed carrot on the end of her fork without looking at it. “So it’ll be a regular Saturday night,” she said dryly, “except you’re actually inviting the people who will show up anyway.”

Amata rolled her eyes, but refused to deflate. “It’ll be great, you’ll see! I’ll make a cake and everything!” She stabbed into one of her carrots, but it slipped and flew across the room and bounced off Andy’s metal frame.

Jane couldn’t help but grin. Even if Amata was everything that Jane would never be, it was hard not to find her caring enthusiasm to be endearing.

 

* * *

 

“What’s this?” Butch asked, throwing his arms up in amazement. “Cake? What, is Nosebleed turning ten all over again?” He laughed, hitting Wally in the ribs with the back of his hand. Wally guffawed along obediently, drawing a giggle from Christine as well. “Hold on, lemme get a chainsaw to cut it with!”

“Come on guys,” Amata laughed gently. “It’s a birthday! There has to be cake!” She cut out slices for each of them, handing them off to Paul one-by-one to pass around. Even if it did seem childish to everyone but Amata, there was no reason to turn down a perfectly good slice of cake.

After the cake was gone, it didn’t take long for everyone to get bored. Boredom meant beer though, and soon they were gathered around the coffee table on the floor with a pack of cards, playing poker for anything they felt like wagering. Jewelry, cigarettes that only half of them wanted, pocket knives and I-O-U’s. In a vault where old pre-war money meant nothing, it was more fun to bet with things they cared about, if they were going to bet at all.

After her third beer and his fourth, Butch found Jane’s hand fisted in the front of his vault suit and her bared teeth up in his face.

“Give me back my damn necklace!” she growled as her knuckles began to turn white.

The Tunnel Snake practically danced as he slid his winnings across the table, Jane’s golden crucifix necklace stacked on top of a whole box of cigarettes bet in by Wally. “Shoulda thought of that before you bet it!”

“That was before you started pulling cards out of your sleeve!”

He just laughed, sliding the box into his pocket. He put one to his lips and pulled out his lighter, but Jane yanked the cigarette from his mouth and threw it to the floor. Though he glared, he didn’t say anything as he put the lighter away.

Jane yanked Butch closer, hissing in his ear. “It was my mother’s. Give it back.”

That made him pause – and for a tense moment no one was sure if they were in for a fight or not. But Butch just shrugged, and she dropped his shirt in favor of the necklace as he held it out to her.

“What am I gonna do with a dumb necklace anyway?” he said, brushing the confrontation off. “Come on, who’s dealing?”

 

After her fourth beer and his sixth, Butch was past decent and well into debauch. Even the forever forgiving Saint Paul was tired of him.

 

* * *

 

After his seventh, nobody was having fun anymore.

 

“Your deal, Princess Amatatas,” he cackled, leaning with one arm across the middle of the table for balance. “Lay ‘em on me. And give me some cards, too.”

“Can it, Butch.” Jane’s expression was serious, but he was too busy laughing to look at her. He was slowly leaning more and more to one side; Paul pushed him back up so he wouldn’t fall over.

“What’s a matter, Jannie?” Butch gave her mocking puppy eyes, adding, “you need me to love yours too?”

“Butch, that’s enough.” Amata’s face was red – from beer or embarrassment no one knew.

“Tell you what,” he said, forcing himself into an upright position and spreading his arms wide. His white teeth flashed in what he must have assumed was a smooth, cool grin. “I’ve got two arms, I can put one of you on each of them.”

“Butch,” Paul said warningly. No one got between Paul and his girl, not even the Tunnel Snakes’ moderately fearless leader.

“Of course,” he said, swaying slightly as he looked down, arms still held out wide, “I’ve only got one–”

“ _Enough!_ ” Jane shouted, making everyone jump. She stood, pulling the swaying man to his feet along with her, and threw him in the direction of her room. Nearly tripping over his own feet the whole way, he managed to make it far enough to land half over her bed with his knees on the floor. She followed him in and shut the door behind them, locking it.

Amata pounded on the door, demanding that Jane let her in, but it was far too late for that. Her voice, muffled (though not exactly quieted) by the thick steel door between them, was easy enough to ignore.

 

* * *

 

Butch was still cackling as he struggled to push himself to his feet, his fists sinking into the mattress. “What’s a matter, can’t get enough of me? Don’t wanna share?”

Jane marched forward and threw a punch right into Butch’s jaw, sending him back to the floor.

“I am _tired_ of you, Butch!” she shouted, no longer caring if anyone heard them. “ _Tired_ of your constant innuendos and pathetic taunts.”

Butch couldn’t seem to stop laughing, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t throw his fist back into its customary home against her nose. She swore, pinching it shut as she felt blood beginning to drip down her chin. He tried to punch her again, but misjudged the distance and instead practically threw himself to her right.

“Of your teasing!” Jane continued, grabbing the back of his vault suit at the waist and throwing him to the floor. He twisted like a particularly drunken cat until he was facing upwards again.

“Of you _lies_ and your petty schemes!” She dropped to the floor, straddling his waist and aiming to give him a black eye. He flailed his arms over his face, trying to deflect the hit – only somewhat successful. Frustrated, she grabbed his arms at the wrists and pinned them over his head. Butch still hadn’t even stopped laughing.

“For once in your damned life, you should be _quiet_ ,” she continued, leaning down to hiss the words into his face. Maybe if she said the word close enough to him, over and over and over again, he might learn its meaning.

“Make me, Nosebleed!” he spat. Jane wanted to claw the sneer right off his face.

 

* * *

 

This wasn’t the first time the pair of them had gotten in a fist fight. It had started many years before, with Butch pulling on her pigtails and stealing her teddy bear. Neither of them really remembered exactly when it started, but they both remembered the first time she fought back.

He’d ended up with a split lip and two stitches beside his puffed black eye – not to mention the numerous bruises on his chest, and the sprained wrist.

She’d ended up with a broken nose.

After that, most kids would have called it quits. Butch and Jane, however, weren’t most kids. Instead of getting into big fights, they threw punches and tripped and kicked at each other when no one was looking. The reality of their vault suits was that if no one saw them fight, no one would look for any bruises.

Occasionally they would break out into a brawl again for one reason or another. Nasty rumors, embarrassing secrets, the simple want to start a fight. But almost always the pair would walk away with the same classic injuries: Butch with a split lip and a black eye, and Jane with a bloodied nose.

 

* * *

 

Dropping his wrists, she pulled at the front of his vault suit again to yank him back up to punch again, but her fingers tore right through the aged fabric instead. His chest was hot against her knuckles. The heat radiating into her fist jarred her out of her rage as she began to notice it against her thighs where they were pressed against Butch’s sides, holding him pinned to the spot.

Jane relaxed her fist, letting her fingers splay against the creamy skin beneath the shredded blue and yellow. The heavy beating of the blood beneath sent tingles up her arm and down her back, to places she was suddenly having trouble ignoring.

Despite being drunk, Butch still knew how to fight. Jane ducked as he started to throw another punch, flattening herself against him. He took advantage of her sudden lack of leverage and rolled them over, her hand still against his chest. She gasped at the pressure of his weight against her – not at all an unpleasant thing. Butch started to move to pin her down, but his movements slowed as he realized she’d lost interest in the fight. His legs shifted slightly to rest on either side of one of hers.

“Hey, Nosebleed,” he started, lowering his voice finally. “Nosebleed. Come on. I’m not gonna fight if you ain’t fightin back. That don’t mean you win though.”

Jane watched him curiously, noticing for the first time the darker flecks in his blue eyes. Despite all the times she’d thrown punches at them, she’d never seen it before.

She sunk her nails down slowly into his chest, raking them inward towards her palm. He hissed, pulling back slightly, but didn’t try to free himself when Jane took hold of the torn fabric.

“The fuck’s gotten into you, Nosebleed?” Butch laughed, but it wasn’t the same as before – more out of habit than finding anything funny.

 

She lingered in that moment, unsure of whether to rip his clothes off or punch him in the jaw.

 

She settled on both.

 

* * *

 

Jane pulled on the zipper and shoved both the vault suit and the Tunnel Snakes jacket down off his shoulders. He scrambled to keep them on, but with a solid push from Jane he was thrown off balance and fell backward. The jacket fell halfway down his shoulder and the vault suit tangled with it, but Jane ignored them. Instead, she kept sliding the zipper downward. Once it reached his hips, she straddled them pushed Butch down against the floor.

“I’m really getting sick of you,” she muttered before crashing their lips together. Her teeth dragged into the newest split in his lip and he yelped, but stopped trying to pull away. “But I’ll at least make you useful for something.”

She shoved his jacket the rest of the way off and clawed at the lingering sleeve of his vault suit, made difficult by the fact that at the same time he was trying to unzip hers. Without bothering to be gentle, Jane shoved him back down and unzipped it herself; it slipped easily from her shoulders and pooled around her hips. Both of them had new bruises beginning to bloom on their torsos; neither cared.

With a warning look and a raised eyebrow, Jane stood and stepped out of the vault suit, peeling it down each leg without taking her eyes off him. Butch couldn’t seem to decide where to look, going from holding her gaze to watching more and more of her skin be revealed then back to that warning look in her eyes.

“Nosebleed, you gotta drink more often,” he said, running his hands up her thighs.

Jane just rolled her eyes and knelt down with her legs on either side of his neck. “Just shut up and make yourself useful.”

“ _With pleasure._ ”

 

* * *

 

Jane refused to let Butch up from his place on the floor. She didn’t care if he wanted to switch positions, he was staying right there on the floor and if he didn’t like it he could fuck right off. There was no way she was even going to let him _begin_ to think he could top her or dominate her or some bullshit like that. It might be sex, she may have been moaning every time he dragged his tongue across her clit or pounded his dick up into her – they were still fighting. And she refused to let him win.

When another orgasm rolled through her, it felt every bit as good as giving him a black eye.

When she pulled herself off him, her sopping wet vault-issue underwear snapping back into place, his string of curses was another victory.

“Calm down,” she muttered, spreading his lets apart and settling herself between them. She took his cock in one hand and held back her hair with the other. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Lowering her lips to it and licking teasing swipes across the head sent Butch into another fit of unintelligible, moaned words. Even as she bobbed her head up and down, tasting herself on him and feeling her face get wet and sticky from it, she stared up across his body to watch his eyes. She wanted to see him unravel for her – just because it was another win for the night.

It was her birthday, after all. She deserved to keep on winning.

 

* * *

 

“Gotta admit,” Butch started, before taking a long drag on his cigarette. Jane watched the exhaled smoke cloud in front of them before it was sucked into the air recycling duct, waiting for the rest of the sentence. “We might have something.”

She turned her head towards him, raising an eyebrow.

Butch just laughed at her expression. “I’m joking, I’m joking! I’ll go back to punching your nose in tomorrow. Deal?”

“And we _do not_ talk about this. To anyone.”

“Fuck no,” he said, eyes wide as he shook his head. “You think I want to deal with all of them reminding me of this every time we get in a fight?”

“Good. Deal.”

The small clock across the room said it was almost 4:00am. Jane thought back, wondering how long it had been. She knew they hadn’t started making real bets at the poker game until after 1:00am, but beyond that she wasn’t sure. They could have been at it for hours. But then, it was just as likely that they’d been laying there not speaking for just as long.

“You haven’t told me to leave yet.”

Jane rolled onto her side, facing away from him. “I’ll go back to busting your eye tomorrow. Until then, call it a truce.” She waved a lazy hand over her shoulder at him. “Leave whenever you want.”

Butch sat up slowly, finishing his cigarette and stamping it out on the plate beside the bed he’d used as an ashtray. Jane didn’t watch as he redressed. She heard the zipper of his jacket slide all the way up, presumably to cover the shredded vault suit beneath. When he was finished, he walked around the bed to look at her before he left.

“If you’re not gonna throw any punches, where’s the fun in it?” he asked with his classic grin.

She smirked. “Make sure there’s no one out there before you go.”

He nodded, then peeked around the curtain of the small window out into the living room. Deciding the coast was clear, he unlocked the door and jogged out through the living room, and out the front door. Both doors slid slowly shut after him, leaving the apartment quiet but for the soft rumble of the air ducts.

Jane felt at the jagged bridge of her nose, the tiny lumps beneath the skin standing out at all odd angles. She could feel dried blood sticking to the skin beneath, but she was used to it. What good was a nose if not for breaking, anyway? About as useful as an eye that couldn’t be blackened, or a lip that couldn’t be split…


End file.
